His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 126

Whitley's heart violently seized.

Almost purely on reflex, she lunged forward, snatching the medical documents right back out of his hand. She crushed them into her palm, the edges of the paper crinkling under her desperate grip.

The dense text printed on those pages was her late-stage cancer diagnosis and her chemotherapy records. It was the absolute vulnerability and devastation she refused to let anyone see.

Especially not the man standing in front of her, who had never actually cared whether she lived or died.

She looked up at Clive, her face still paper-white. "This has nothing to do with you."

Clive stared at her intensely guarded expression. His eyes shifted, as if he wanted to push the issue, but his gaze dropped to her ashen cheeks and the slight tremble in her fingers. In the end, he didn't press further.

He didn't seem to truly care what illness she had or why she was at the hospital alone. He just casually looked away.

His tone reverted to its usual detached cadence. "Bonnie organized a family weekend getaway for tomorrow. She specifically asked for you. Wake up early tomorrow; we'll go pick her up together."

Hearing this, Whitley just found it ridiculously absurd.

A second ago, he couldn't have cared less about her actual health, and now he was bringing out his grandmother to demand she play the role of the dutiful wife.

Her hand, hanging by her side, slowly tightened into a fist. Suppressing the bitter ache rising in her chest, she asked coldly, "Why not take Yelena with you? Isn't she always the best at making the elders happy?"

The air in the room instantly thickened.

Clive's eyes snapped up, locking onto her with a dark, heavy intensity.

"In what capacity would she go?"

Whitley just stared at him, momentarily forgetting to breathe.

So he actually understood the concept of 'capacity.'

He knew perfectly well that she, and only she, was his legally recognized wife.

Yet, on a daily basis, he paraded Yelena around to every event, treating her like an intimate partner under the guise of friendship. He let her waltz into their home, let her encroach on Whitley's space, and let her erase Whitley's presence, completely ignoring his wife's dignity and title.

Now that he needed his legitimate wife by his side to appease his grandmother, he suddenly remembered her status.

The warmth of the kitchen was the only thing in this massive house that made her feel remotely human.

She stood quietly by the stove, waiting for the oatmeal to finish, allowing herself a brief moment of peace away from the exhausting people and the endless pain.

Just as she placed the bowl on the dining table, her phone rang from the entryway.

It was a follow-up call from the hospital, reminding her of her next chemo appointment and going over her symptoms.

Terrified Clive might hear, Whitley practically sprinted to the balcony, keeping her voice incredibly low as she answered the nurse's questions. The call ended up taking a solid ten minutes.

When she finally hung up and walked back into the dining room, the sight before her made her freeze in her tracks.

Clive was sitting at the table, casually eating the oatmeal she had just made.

Whitley stared.

She couldn't believe her eyes. It took her brain a second to even process what was happening.